Chapter One ~ 1875-1
2010 Words
The door opened and a clerk formally announced,
“The Earl of Derby, Prime Minister.”
Mr. Disraeli then rose to his feet as the Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs advanced towards him.
“How are you?” he asked.
“Well, thank you,” the Earl replied, “but I am sure that you have bad news or you would not have sent for me at this unearthly hour.”
The Prime Minister laughed.
Having a fine sense of humour himself, he always enjoyed the wit of his contemporaries.
Unfortunately some of them took life very seriously and seldom smiled let alone laughed at the difficulties that constantly confronted Parliament.
The Earl of Derby next sat down on a chair at the other side of the Prime Minister’s desk.
“What has gone wrong now?” he asked.
There was undoubtedly a wary note in his voice.
“I hate to tell you,” the Prime Minister answered, “but Her Majesty sent for me yesterday to say that she has received an urgent request from King Hadrian of Arginos.”
He paused and, seeing the expression in the eyes of the Foreign Secretary, he added,
“I think you may have guessed already what she requires.”
The Earl of Derby held up his hands.
“Not again,” he answered. “I just cannot bear it.”
“I knew you would feel like that,” Mr. Disraeli said, “but Her Majesty is the one person who seems to realise the seriousness of what is now happening in the Balkans. The King, not unnaturally, desires the support of Great Britain to prevent what he says is the infiltration of the Russians, who are making considerable trouble in that part of the world.”
“If he wants to marry off one of his children to a relative of Queen Victoria, I can tell you here and now that it is quite impossible,” the Earl declared firmly. “We have used up every one of her very many relatives until there literally is not a cousin, however distant, left unmarried.”
The irritated tone of his voice made the Prime Minister laugh again.
“It is no use,” he said, “you know what Her Majesty is like when she has made up her mind and, although she has twenty-two or twenty-three, I have forgotten which, relatives on the Thrones of Europe, she is determined to have one more. And you will have to find her!”
The Earl threw up his hands in a helpless gesture.
“I cannot manufacture this young woman out of thin air,” he complained, “and, while we are talking about it, I am trying to remember just where Arginos is.”
The Prime Minister then produced a map from a drawer in his desk.
“It is North of Greece,” he said, “and was at one time part of that country. It is now at the very end of Livadia, an Independent State that was most fortunately not swallowed up by the Ottoman Empire.”
“And what is the trouble?” the Earl enquired.
“Need you ask?” the Prime Minister replied. “Russia is determined to take over what she can of the Balkans. I am told as well that she has her eyes on Constantinople as well.”
“I have heard that,” the Earl responded sharply.
He spoke testily as if the Prime Minister was poaching on his particular preserve.
“I can only hope that it is not true,” Mr. Disraeli went on, “but a friend of mine who was in Russia only a week or so ago told me that in St. Petersburg they are all influenced by two books. One is a nineteen-page brochure written by a General Fadeyev, the son of a former Governor. The other one is a long treatise called Russia and Europe by Nicholas Danilevsky, a Civil Servant.”
Russia and Europe“How does that concern any of the Politicians who bother to read them?” the Earl asked.
“The trouble is that both of the books glorify War and they hold up as a goal a Slavic Federation with Russia as its head.”
Mr. Disraeli paused.
Then he added in an impressive tone,
“And its Capital would be Constantinople.”
The Earl of Derby sat upright in his chair.
“I don’t believe it! The idea is dangerous and, of course, simply ridiculous.”
“The Russians certainly don’t think so,” the Prime Minister said quietly, “and it appeals to everybody, especially the Czarina.”
The Earl of Derby drew in his breath.
“The Empress?” he queried.
“She looks on it as if it is a religious Crusade,” the Prime Minister said, “and wishes to establish Constantinople as the greatest City in Christendom.”
“The whole idea is preposterous!” the Earl exclaimed.
“I wish it was,” the Prime Minister said, “but on this I agree with Her Majesty, that the situation in the Balkans is something that we must deeply consider in every aspect.”
He knew, as he spoke, that the Earl of Derby was not convinced.
Put forward it did sound an exaggerated idea and yet Russia was always unpredictable and sinister.
Both the Prime Minister and the Foreign Secretary were aware that the Russians were stirring up as much trouble as they could in the Balkans.
This had resulted in the Balkans, wherever it was possible, wanting a close connection with Great Britain.
The easiest way to ensure that this was so was to marry their King or Crown Prince to one of Queen Victoria’s relations.
As the Earl had said, this source was beginning to dry up or, as he believed, was already exhausted.
Both men were silent for a moment.
Then the Prime Minister asked,
“There must be somebody to fill the bill and, although the situation may not be as serious as we might think, it could surely prevent Russia from infiltrating any further into the other countries South of Macedonia.”
“I am almost certain,” the Earl of Derby said, “that unless Her Majesty has someone ‘up her sleeve’ there are no more relatives and King Hadrian will have to look elsewhere.”
“Where can he look?” the Prime Minister queried beneath his breath.
Both men were aware that the only country for whom Russia had any respect was Great Britain.
With her enormous resources, Russia could in fact very easily overrun all the countries that bordered the Black Sea.
It would be exceedingly difficult for any European Power to even try to stop her.
At the same time the Czar of Russia, Alexander II, was a man who appreciated peace. He had no wish to go to war with anybody.
As if the Earl of Derby was following the Prime Minister’s thoughts, he next said,
“The Russian Army is not mobilised for war and I do not believe that the Czar will allow it.”
“I was talking to someone who has just been in Russia who told me that it is true,” the Prime Minister remarked, “but the Grand Duke Nicholas, who has the keen support of the Czarina, is eager to secure more territories for Russia and prove himself a National Hero.”
There was silence until the Prime Minister commented,
“I have no wish to return to Her Majesty the Queen and say we have failed to produce what she requires.”
“Surely there must be someone who can marry the King?” the Earl remarked.
“It is not the King,” Mr. Disraeli replied. “He already has a wife. No, it is not quite as bad as that. It is his second son, Prince Darius, who is free to take a bride. His elder brother is married.”
“You surely don’t believe that some ‘two-penny-half-penny’ Prince we have never heard of,” the Earl of Derby asked scornfully, “is going to deter the Russians from attempting to annexe Constantinople?”
“No, but it will prevent them from creating a Revolution in Arginos,” the Prime Minister said quietly, “which is what they have done in other parts of the Balkans. I do not know whether you are aware of the chaos they have caused in the North, but I feel we should try to do something to prevent their greed swallowing up these small independent States that are, because there are so many of them, a safeguard against complete Russian domination of the whole region.”
“I see your reasoning, Prime Minister,” the Earl answered, “but I still cannot produce a bride out of thin air if, quite simply, the girl does not exist.”
“I have to agree with you there,” the Prime Minister said. “I suppose you are prepared to give the bad news to Her Majesty?”
The Earl threw up his hands.
“God forbid! That is your job!”
“On the contrary,” Mr. Disraeli said with a twinkle in his eyes. “You are the Foreign Secretary!”
You“Dammit all!” the Earl swore. “You ask too much.”
He spoke with ferocious exasperation.
Then, as he met the Prime Minister’s eyes, they both laughed.
“I know your methods only too well,” the Earl said. “You are making this a challenge so that I shall have to comb the country from North to South, rather than face Her Majesty with failure.”
They were both well aware how disagreeable the Queen could be if her orders were not fully carried out.
The Earl was thinking that the only person who could handle her was the Prime Minister himself.
He had a charming ingratiating manner, which inevitably delighted her.
It was well known by all the Ministries that she favoured Benjamin Disraeli and disliked, almost with a deep sense of n***d hostility, Mr. Gladstone, the Leader of the Opposition in Parliament.
The Earl thought with horror how unpleasant the interview would be if he had to tell Her Majesty that there was no bride for Prince Darius.
Therefore the King of Arginos’s request for help must regrettably remain unanswered.
“I tell you what we will do,” the Prime Minister suggested unexpectedly. “We will ask Smithson, who is in charge of the Genealogy of Europe. There may perhaps be a daughter of one of the Queen’s relatives who is already on a Throne.”
“That is a good idea, Benjamin,” the Earl exclaimed, looking much more cheerful.
As the Prime Minister finished speaking, he rang a bell.
When the door opened, he ordered,
“Send Mr. Smithson to me at once.”
The door closed and the Earl said,
“I have never known you to be beaten by anything you undertook. I am only praying now that someone will turn up, although God knows who.”
“One never knows one’s luck,” the Prime Minister replied.
The door opened and George Smithson came in.
He was a middle-aged man whose hair was just beginning to turn grey.
He bowed politely both to the Prime Minister and then to the Earl of Derby.
“I sent for you, Smithson,” the Prime Minister said, “because we have a difficult problem we have to solve. Her Majesty the Queen has been requested by King Hadrian of Arginos to provide a suitable bride, who is also one of Her Majesty’s relatives, for his second son. The Foreign Secretary, the Earl of Derby, and I have found it completely impossible to think of anyone available.”
George Smithson was silent.
Both men were aware that for the last three years he had been working on the Genealogy of Europe.
- Writer
